When Gays Get Handy

Okay, from the title of this I can all ready hear some of your minds racing faster than a white trash couple popping beers on their couch watching NASCAR with all the dirty possibilities. I assure you that much like me, the intent of those words above are pure (wait for sparkle on teeth like a toothpaste commercial, halo to appear above my head, then slip down around my neck and strangle me). What I'm trying to tell you is that for once I went into one of those huge super warehouse home stores that sell everything from lumber to appliances and actually found what I needed. More important than the fact that I found what I needed, I actually installed it and as if all that wasn't enough, it actually worked! When gays get handy - Don't Get Me Started!

I am not one of those gays who feels he can be "The Next Design Star" in fact I don't know that I have any of the proclivity I'm supposed to have as to knowing what color to paint the one wall in my dining room to make it look larger, how to choose "to die for" accents for the room or where to throw throw pillows. That's right I'm admitting it, I don't cook all that great and I'm not all that educated or "fabulous" when it comes to decorating. I don't even think (wait for the gasp from the last admissions to subside) I would even cut hair well. (I know, I wonder all the time how they let me keep my gay membership card at all)

I know that I'm supposed to know my way around a fabric store and as the years go on, I am now supposed to know my way around a Home Depot (the new fabric store for gays) but I'm really okay with admitting such is not the case. You see, it all intimidates me. Sort of like having to go to gym class which has now turned into the gym. My breathing sort of gets stilted as I walk into these stores. Even if I'm going for something simple like a light bulb (which was the case with my recent adventure) I know that I'm going to endlessly walk the oversized aisles looking up at things that could kill me if they fell on me and never find what I came in there for in the first place. I see the people in their bright orange vests who are supposed to be helpful but let's face it, they're just like those people who work in health food stores (who are all so healthy they look like death warmed over) who know in an instant that I'm not one of them. They look at me as if to say, "Poser - I know your colon is full of rotting meat. As if you really deserve the "Not Dogs" (imitation hot dogs - yes, they really make them) that you're looking at, meaty!") The same can be said for the vested helpers who are not invested in helping me at all. They know by scent or something that saw dust and caulk do not run through my veins (nor has either of these things ever been underneath my fingernails). So for the most part I try to stay as far away from these stores as possible however when several specialty bulbs from the chandelier in our office (designed by a white woman who is very thin but not a gay man who would then be considered gay thin) I had no choice but to go to one of these stores to find the bulb I needed. And so I walked in and finally found a woman with the orange vest on who did not seem as though she ate gays like me for breakfast nor did she seem so feeble that she wouldn't know where things were in the vast location. As I held up the tiny bulb with two prongs on it she barely looked at it before telling me, "Aisle twelve in the drawers." And without laying a finger aside of her nose but giving a nod up the aisle she rose.

I found the drawers containing the bulbs and although it looked the same as the one in my hand and had the same kind of markings (sort of like tagging wildlife or gays - read that blog here http://hubpages.com/hub/The-Gay-Tag-And-Release-Program--Dont-Get-Me-Started ) I knew that it wouldn't be right. Why did I know this? Because I have never gone into one of these stores and walked out with something that was right or fit. But perhaps the gay angels that wear tool belts were looking down on me smiling instead of throwing a wrench at me because lo and behold they indeed fit. And as I climbed up onto the conference table to unscrew the glass orbs and replace the bulbs there was a true sense of accomplishment. Dare I name it as "gay pride?" Drunk with the excitement of this conquest I'm going home right now to throw some pillows! When gays get handy - Don't Get Me Started!

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Stacie Naczelnik 9 years agofrom Seattle

Scott, over my morning coffee, your articles help my day begin with a smile. The best was yesterday when I had a bunch of them waiting in my email because I had been out of town and not checking my email (gasp)--it was a somelikeitscott marathon.